


Moon Stone

by Preda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Minas Ithil, Minas Morgul, Palantír(i)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:10:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preda/pseuds/Preda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In TA 2002, the Nazgûl assaulted Minas Ithil and captured the city, along with its palantír, which was presented years later to their master, Sauron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon Stone

The procession approached with an almost terrified reverence, carefully treading over the newly-assembled floor tiles; fidgety orcs carried an ironclad chest, of the sort used for storing stolen treasure following a sack or looting, while attempting to avoid the threatening masonry and reinforcement beams, many of which tended to switch position, rolling and floating and leaping into new places as Lugbúrz reassembled itself to accommodate the return of its master. At the head of the line, leading but separated from the rest, a darkly armored figure strode towards the empty throne. Horned and terrifying, unlike its servants it showed no attempt to move out of the way and avoid collision with the brickwork. Indeed, were one to look closer they would see all stone and metal pass it by as if it were no heavier than a gust of air, and no more tangible.

Reaching the end of the throne room, the quaking servants set the chest on the floor, retreating to a safe distance from it. None dared to touch the heavy lid or peek inside. The item they carried had been in their keeping for their whole lives, and the lives of countless others before them, and though they knew not what it was they both feared and revered. For them it was but an echo, a glimpse of the life they might have had but for their nature, and their corruption, and its light was foul and hateful. The Figure turned around. _It_ knew what the chest contained.

In an Age long past, it had seen its like in the sunken realm of Westernesse. A weapon of dreadful and deceptive power, sent by the unwitting Elves as a token of good will and friendship. Its owners knew not its origin, or even the full reach of its might. Perhaps the Eldar had meant it to be so. Perhaps, in their deceitful secrecy, they had twisted it so that no Men could use it to its fullest potential. That would soon be rectified.

The ring it wore grew hot on its finger, and would have seared it were there any flesh left upon it. “ _What bring you here?_ ” a voice echoed in its head.

“A treasure from the ruined city,” it replied, in a voice that may at one time have been female.

The room quaked and rang with the clatter of falling bricks and metal as the motions ceased, their noise echoing down many halls and dungeons throughout the keep. A dark and dreadful wind blew across the chamber, sending the Orcs cowering into dark corners and under the cover of debris as the heavy lid of the chest swung open. A second later the armored Figure bent its knee, turning to the black throne, now occupied.

The Dark Lord rose, striding past his bent lieutenant, bending over the chest’s contents after three economical steps. The weapon inside, heavy and round, lay under a thick velvet covering. “ _You conceal this thing, shunning and hiding it,”_ Sauron said, _“as if afraid of what it might show thee._ ”

Picking up the heavy stone globe, he turned. “ _And yet, your fear may be wiser than your pride in searching for my favor, Vain Ard._ ”

Adûnaphel raised her head, her armor not concealing her quaking voice and doubt. “I promise you, Lord, my pride is only in serving as the instrument of your will.”

As if shoved by a great and violent hand, pieces of masonry and metal flew across the room, landing in front of the Dark Lord in the form of a short makeshift pillar, a table upon which he placed the stone. He gazed at it for a moment, still covered. Long had he desired to see closer one of the Seeing Stones, these artifices of the Distant West. Their origin shrouded in lies and mystery, he had long ago heard they had been made by Fëanor himself, or under his guidance, or, some said, using part of his innermost spirit. The truth was unknown even to him, and indeed the Stones seemed to resist his sight during their time in lost Númenor.

“ _My will is that we remain a secret well-concealed, and the West be ignorant of our growing strength. Yet you bring here this eye, haughty and prideful thing, **that any simpleton from Ithilien to Formenos might spy upon us!**_ ”

Swiftly and violently he withdrew the covering, and a furious light from the palantír filled the room, sending the terrified orcs still deeper into their hiding, and even Adûnaphel, now standing behind her master, flinched and averted her gaze. Then slowly, as if pushed back by the oppressive darkness of the room, it withdrew. As the Dark Lord picked it up the light grew even dimmer, until it was but a small and shivering flame inside the dark stone.

“ _The Men who held this before me knew not the purpose of the Stones, and neither do you. Always it was assumed one was only meant to speak with another, or a few of its brethren, or give them far-gaze into the lands they craved or protected. And this only because that is all they could do with them. Fools. Blind and arrogant! Not only can this stone see all its sisters in Middle Earth, it can yet further scry past the Straight Road and into Valinor itself. The fire inside them binds them all together._ ”

He turned and brought the palantír closer to Adûnaphel, and she saw then that it vibrated and simmered in the Black Hand. “ _Even now it is outraged, that bright flame, screaming and fighting against me. And if there is a watch set upon the others, now all would see them shivering and shining, trying to warn their masters that they are betrayed._ ”

As the hiss of the stone grew louder, Sauron closed his fist tighter around it, until it looked like he would crush it in his grip. The sound was suddenly muted, and Sauron returned the stone to its table, the charred imprint of his palm now seared on its surface. “ _Thus I silence it, Vain Ard. Such is the depth of your failure, that what may have been a window into the Uttermost West is now but a keyhole, into the soul of whatever fool may yet use one of the Seven after their warning._ ”

He turned again towards his wraith-servant, and though her head was bowed she could hear the cruel smile in his voice “ _-and who would attempt such a thing? Who would hear the call of pain within the palantír, and recklessly ignore it? Who might offer themselves so readily to my Eye?_ ”

She raised her head, meeting his gaze with a cruel smile of her own. “Who indeed?”

**Author's Note:**

> Adûnaphel is a character not mentioned by name in any of Tolkien's works. She originates in a third-party card game I believe, but since most of the Nazgûl have no known names or history, she has been all but assimilated into the fanon as the sole female member of the Nine.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Any comments or reviews would be greatly appreciated!


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